The Results of Chance Meetings
by StarlightWarrior
Summary: Sark and Vaughn have a little conversation during a traffic jam. Get to see Vain!Sark- limited time offer!


Michael Vaughn was driving to work on a hot LA morning. He was in his normal, closed- roof, car- Ford Focus of course- of a sickly green color, with the windows open and the air-conditioning on overtime; even then, the sweltering heat still got to him. And worse, he had just hit a traffic jam.

And who should drive up next to him but Mr. Sark.

Sark pushed his genuine Gucci sunglasses down on the bridge of his rather flat nose and looked at Vaughn from his black Mercedes. He smirked, repressing a grin.

"Good to see you, Mr. Vaughn. Are you taking that to the scrapyard, or was it half off day at Stan's Used Cararama?

Vaughn glared out the window, disgruntledly noticing the wind ruffling Sark's hair.

"At least **I **use a comb in the morning, Sark," Vaughn shot back. He wasn't about to let some bed- headed, gloating mercenary Brit in a convertible win this one.

Sark made a mock- hurt face. "You're just jealous because I have the 'sexy bed head' look down pat. And that I'm a natural blonde." He tilted his head to examine himself in his side mirror. "Seriously, I really don't know what Sydney sees in you." 

That was it. He could insult his car, he could insult his hair- which was a pretty cardinal offence in Vaughn's book-, but insult Syd's taste and DIE. He would come up with something so atrocious, so horrible, so insulting that it would make Sark cry. Or melt into a smirking blond bit of goo, he wasn't sure which.

"You're- you're- you're. . . a NUMPS!" Vaughn shouted. He couldn't remember exactly what the word meant, but Sydney had taught him it, and he generally regarded her intellect as higher than Weiss (who had taught him the only other good insult he knew- there were downsides to being such a boy scout)'s. "Did anyone ever tell you that?!"

Sark hardly looked fazed. In fact, he looked oddly nostalgic. 

"Oh, yes. Several times, actually- my mother practically invented the word. The first thing I'd hear in the morning was, 'Sark, you little numps, eat your pancakes!'. Yes. . . and later on: 'Sark, you numps! Your big sister stacked that tower puzzle *perfectly*. Why can't you? You're an embarrassment to the Derevko line. _Numps_.'" Sark sniffed. "Sydney got all the attention. Did she shoot *me* in Taipei? Nooo. Did *I* get knocked out in The Telling? NOOO-" 

"Hey, if you wanted to get knocked out, all you had to do was ASK," announced Vaughn. 

"Do be quiet, I'm in the middle of a recollection here!" Sark replied irritably. "Anyway, Sydney got all the attention, even as a child. She was part of project Christmas, while I still have no idea how I got into spying this young. Especially with my self- esteem problems and numps- ness."

Vaughn sighed. He had gone from wanting to painfully maim Sark to almost feeling sorry for him in less than two minutes. After all, the guy got what, ten seconds of screentime per episode?

"But," Sark said as an evil grin spread over his face- which really suited him more than an actual expression (come to think of it, actual expressions on Sark were vaguely disturbing)- "*I* have my own forum at SD-1.com. Nobody else has THAT." He smirked, feeling much better.

_Must. . . stay. . . calm. . . . _Vaughn put his fingers to his temples, reciting a rhyme from a movie he had seen last night:

"One ring to rule them all, one ring to find them-'

"Is that- no. . . *you* like Tolkien?" Sark's voice had an oddly excited tone to it.

"Uh. . . is that the old wizard guy's name?"

"NO!" Sark cried in horror. "That's GANDALF! How could you get those two confused? One is FICTIONAL, for the Valar's sake!"

Vaughn was shocked. Sark had finally gone crackers. _I guess that's what happens when bleach gets that close to your brain so often,_ he mused. _Yeah, there's no way he's a natural blonde._

"Take this," Sark said, hastily throwing a card on Vaughn's passenger seat. It landed next to his half- open bag of Oreos. "_DO _attend. I'm going as Legolas. You can be Gimli. Ooh, green light!" He then sped off into the LA traffic.

Vaughn looked at the card.

LORD OF THE RINGS CONVENTION 

8:00 Sunday. Come in costume. This week's theme is Elves- see you in Imladris!

"The CIA will never believe *this*. . ." Vaughn chuckled as he drove off. He had no time to follow Sark- a more sinister plan was brewing in his vengeful little brain.

[Or perhaps he was just thinking about those Oreos.]

_~~~_

_TO BE CONTINUED???_


End file.
